Foreign News: Water on Capri

For centuries, dreamers as disparate In time and temperament as Rome’s Emperor Augustus and Sweden’s Author-Doctor Axel Munthe found Italy’s idyllic Isle of Capri a perfect spot in which to get away from it all. Augustus’ misanthropic successor Tiberius found the island’s solitude so inspiring that he often invited tedious friends out to the imperial villa for the weekend, only to push them off a cliff as soon as they arrived. The only thing Capri lacked was a supply of fresh water. Rain water, collected in cisterns, had to suffice Augustus, Munthe and all Caprioti.

In recent years, bellwethered by Britain’s literary leprechaun, the late Norman (South Wind) Douglas, many more bored people from the hectic capitals of the world have sought to get away from it all on Capri. They have succeeded only in bringing it all with them. Lavish hotels, boites and bistros, now abound on the island. Tree-lined walks that once soothed lonely philosophers have turned into a midway featuring the most expensive and expendable freaks on earth. Black velvet bullfighters’ pants, a strapless bra, a conical hat seemingly made of macaroni, and masses of straw junk-jewelry are conservative evening wear for the well-dressed lady on Capri this season, while Capri’s male vacationers find a tastefully tinted athletic supporter most becoming for cocktails on the beach.

To keep all this fashionably exposed flesh clean, Capri’s hostelers must still import fresh bath water by tankers from Naples. The hauling contract has proved to be a gold mine: a cubic meter of water costing 4 lire at Naples sells for 300 lire on Capri. The old adage that “wine is cheaper than water in Capri,” is truer than ever.

Last year a vacationing Italian engineer and nobleman dragged his gaze away from Capri’s ubiquitous Bikini bathing suits long enough to notice some eels at play. Those particular eels, thought the Marchese Domingo de Mistura, need fresh water. Their presence was an unmistakable sign that there must be fresh-water springs under the island. With little more than that to go on, Mistura persuaded local and Italian officials to help him drill a well. Last week, after five months of digging through folds of hard rock near Anacapri, he struck fresh water at a point 171 feet below the sea surface. His theory: that he had struck an underground stream of water flowing from the Apennines near Naples. Whether it was enough to supply the island’s whole need—and to make the marchese’s fortune—was a question for the future. Meanwhile, said the marchese, contentedly quaffing the cool, fresh liquid, “it tastes better than champagne.”